All The World's A Stage
by dream-of-belief
Summary: Rachel character piece. "You are no stranger to performing. No one doubts that. You ARE Rachel Berry, after all. But you are more skilled a performer than your peers or anyone else realises. Every day is a performance more intricate than the last"


**So here is my first Glee fanfic! I was listening to "Don't Rain On My Parade" and was thinking about the scene where Rachel performed it in "Sectionals." This led to me contemplating the concept of performing which led to this lovely little piece being contrived at one in the morning. It's very rough and I only edited it slightly from the original. Please review! Oh, and I don't own Glee or Rachel Berry. I wish I owned Glee. That would be amazing. Enjoy!**

**_All The World's A Stage (_or_ Three Minutes)_**

* * *

You are no stranger to performing. No one doubts that. You _are_ Rachel Berry, after all. In sixteen short years, you have performed in hundreds of recitals, showcases, pageants, and talent shows.

But you are more skilled a performer than your peers or anyone else realises. Every day is a performance more intricate than the last. You take on a persona and play the part of the prima donna. People notice a prima donna. People pay attention to a prima donna.

No one notices the girl who cries in the bathroom after getting a slushie to the face. No one pays attention to one lost and lonely insecure girl.

So you push her aside. You convince yourself that the lost little girl doesn't exist. You convince yourself that you _are_ the part you play. What little girl? You are a star, and not just any star, a _gold_ star. You aren't just Rachel Berry, you are _**Rachel Berry**__._

And _**Rachel Berry**_ is going to be noticed. _**Rachel Berry**_ will not be pushed aside. You are _not _going to go unnoticed.

No matter what you do, though, the little girl will not be silenced. She finds ways to break free and overpower the prima donna.

She makes you cry as you clean slushie off of your face.

She makes you pine after a boy you know that you will never have a hope of being with.

She makes you believe that you _do_ have hope.

She makes you naive.

She makes you trust the boy, no matter what you believe you should actually do.

She makes you pursue him even after you know his girlfriend is pregnant.

She makes you believe that one day he'll want you enough to leave his girlfriend.

She makes you believe that one day he will love you.

With the little girl and the prima donna both struggling to escape, you sometimes feel like you are two people. It's like you're in the middle of a tug-of-war contest. On one side is little Rachel who wears her heart on her sleeve. On the other side is _**Rachel Berry**_ who hides behind her big voice and dance lessons. You feel like a fraying rope, straining from the contest of wills. All you want is for _**Rachel Berry**_ and little Rachel to stop pulling. All you want is to stop performing. All you want is to be you. You just want to be Rachel. Not _**Rachel Berry**_. Not little Rachel. Just Rachel.

And suddenly you're at sectionals and it feels like everything is on your shoulders. For the first time you have to be pushed into the spotlight. For the first time being the star doesn't feel perfect and right. For the first time you almost don't want to be the star. You _almost_ have friends. Your almost-friends will hate you if they lose sectionals because of you. The boy will hate you if you screw up. The boy might leave you forever if you screw up.

But then you're standing behind the curtain. Then you realise that there isn't a tug-of-war anymore. _**Rachel Berry**_ is gone. There is only little Rachel who is terrified of being alone again.

The music starts and your heart races. Your pulse pounds in your ears so loudly it's hard to hear when you're supposed to begin.

Then you're singing and everything is just...gone. You aren't performing anymore. Little Rachel isn't escaping through the lyrics and melody. _**Rachel Berry**_ isn't choreographing every step in advance. There is only _you._ Only Rachel. Simple, plain Rachel that loves to sing. There is only you and happiness. The audience loves you. They smile at you. They clap for you long before you're done. They give you a standing ovation.

For three short minutes, you are free.

You're a boat on the open ocean.

You're the sun after a storm.

You're a bird in the sky.

You're _home._

For three whole minutes you are free from worry and anxiety and heartbreak and ridicule and betrayal.

For three minutes you are nothing but loved.

For three minutes...you're in heaven.

You know that after those three minutes you'll be torn again. You know that after those three minutes you won't know if you should be little Rachel or _**Rachel Berry**_. You know that after three minutes you'll be fighting for any sort of acknowledgement you can find. You know that after those three minutes you'll get closer and closer to unravelling. You know that after those three minutes you'll have to perform again.

But those three perfect minutes will be worth it.

* * *

The End.

* * *

**So...I'd really like some feedback! This is the first time I've written something in the second person and the first time I've really ever gotten into the head of a character that wasn't my own. Let me know how I did! Thanks for reading!**


End file.
